The Line Between Us
by HeionA
Summary: *ON HIATUS*Mihael is the perfect Ayran boy. Mail is his best friend, and a jew. Can Mihael save Mail from the "Final Solution"? Or will He succumb to the calling of power and wealth? Rated T for language, violence, and suggestive dialogue.
1. I Want No Part In It

**Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

"Mihael, was is das? _What is that_?" the small red head asked a young blonde boy. The blonde, Mihael, was looking where his friend had pointed, at the large tank that had rolled by.

Mihael felt his heart go cold.

He was only a child, but he knew what that tank meant. It meant that no one, not even he and his friend, were safe. He grabbed the smaller boy's hand and ran back into the house.

It was November 8th, 1938.

* * *

Mail had tears in his emerald eyes, as he struggled not to cry. He had been told that he to stop practicing his faith, he had to stop being Jewish. He touched his Star of David necklace, tears spilling over. All the other students had turned on him, when they realised he was a jew. The halls rang with the little rhyme that the children had learned from their friends in Hitlerjunge, or Hitler's Youth:

Jew, Jew, ugly mole

Stick your face in a dirty hole

Stick your face in the mustard pot

Someday dirty Jew will rot!

* * *

He hated himself. He hated his "kike" face, his "jew" nose, his "zionist" ways. The staff even hurt him, just because he was a jew. In class, their teacher, Herr Byler, asked a question, and though Mail had answered right, Herr Byler claimed he answered wrong. When Mail finally spoke up about it, the teacher went on a rampage about the "Stupid Juden" who thought they were smarter and better than the Ayran race. Herr Byler made a point of publicly punishing him, smacking him across his skinny rump with a ruler, rasing pitiful cries out of the frail boy. When he returned to his seat, whimpering and rubbing his bum, Herr Byler made a point in looking to Mihael. "Mihael, would you like to say something?" he asked the red faced blonde.

Mihael only replied, "Lass mich aus dem Speil. _I want no part in it_," through gritted teeth.

* * *

Mail ran to his room, his loud sobs echoing through the empty hallways. Mihael came in to comfort his friend, only to see that the earlier punishment was harder than anyone would've guessed. Mihael rested a gentle hand on Mail's back, rubbing it gently.

"Mail..." he tried, his voice sounding thin and strangled.

Mail only wailed,

"Lass mich in Ruhe! _Leave me alone_!"

How could Mihael understand, when he was one of them?

* * *

He was often cornered and beaten by other students. They'd scream at him, "Come on, Jude! Filthy pice of trash!" as they pounded on his thin body. Once, though, Mihael caught them beating on the poor boy. They were kicking and punching him, as Mail feeble cries lifted from the floor.

"Mihael, Mihael, please!" he cried piteously, as their blows fell upon him mercelessly. He ran forward, pushing the kids off of Mail, screaming at them.

"Get the hell off of him, you damn Dumkopfs!" he swore at them.

"So, the perfect Ayran boy is saving a filty jew?" Mihael glared at them hard, his teeth grinding.

"Get the hell out of here before I seriously hurt you. He is not a stupid jew, he's the smartest jew in germany!" The boys retreated, leaving Mail to collapse in the older boy's arms.

"Mihael, why, why me?" he cried into the blonde boy's shoulder. Mihael gently held his friend close.

"It isn't you. It's just...Es geht drunter und druher....._It's just topsy turvy_. Just a bunch of Dumkopfs." he said softly. Mail just looked up at Mihael with wide tear-filled eyes.

"But, you're perfect! A perfect German, everyone loves you! All the girls are in love with you, why can't I be like you?" Mihael smacked him across the head.

"Don't say that. I wish I was jewish....I hate Germans. They made you cry." Mail smiled at his friend, his bruised face lighting with his smile.

"You don't hate me for being a jew?" he asked softly. Mihael laughed at him.

"Of course not, silly. I'd love you even if you were green with blue polka dots. Jewish or not, you're my best friend."

* * *

**Okay so that was chapter one! Clarifications:**

**1. November 8th was the day after Kristallnacht, thats why the tank was going by where the boys were. **

**2. The german in here is to the best of mine (and my german teacher's) knowladge to be correct. The translations are italiscised just after the phrase.**

**3. Mello, naturally by design, was a "Perfect Ayran" with his Blonde hair and Blue eyes. **

**4. The little Rhyme at the beginning was an actual skiprope song from Hitler's Youth. **

Okay, so, Review please :)


	2. If there is a God

"In Anwesenheit des Blutes Banner, unser Fuhrer ist, das schw r ich all meine Energie und meine Kraft, um den Retter unseres Landes, Adolf Hitler zu widmen. Ich bin willens und bereit zu geben, mein Leben fur ihn, so wahr mir Gott helfe. _In the presence of this blood banner which represents our Fuhrer, I swear to devote all my energies and my strength to the saviour of our country, Adolf Hitler. I am willing and ready to give up my life for him, so help me God_," Mihael pledge along with 17 other boys.

He was 12, but already, in his heart, he knew that the words he had just spoke felt like a stain on his delicate lips. He then stood at attention, along with the others, to recieve his uniform for the Hitler's youth. While the other's faces shone with pride, his shone with tears. He knew. He knew he had just pledeged his life to a man that was trying to kill his best friend. Because he was Jewish. He held out his arms, feeling the tan uniform dropping into his arms, feeling like the weight of the world had dropped on his shoulders. How could he bear to look at Mail now?

"Mein Gesicht ist das Gesicht eines Verr ters. _My face is the face of a traitors_."

* * *

"Ich beginne mit der Jugend. Wir lteren sind aufgebraucht. Wir sind morsch bis ins Mark. Wir sind feige und sentimental. Wir sind mit der Belastung durch eine dem tigende Vergangenheit, und im Blut haben die dumpfe Erinnerung an Leibeigenschaft und Unterw rfigkeit. Aber meine herrliche Jugend! Gibt es irgendwelche feineren in der Welt? Schau dir diese jungen M nner und Jungen! Aus welchem Material! Mit ihnen kann ich eine neue Welt. Dies ist der heroischen Phase der Jugend. Aus dem die sch pferischen Menschen wird kommen, der Mann Gottes. I_ begin with the young. We older ones are used up. We are rotten to the marrow. We are cowardly and sentimental. We are bearing the burden of a humiliating past, and have in our blood the dull recollection of serfdom and servility. But my magnificent youngsters! Are there any finer ones in the world? Look at these young men and boys! What material! With them, I can make a new world. This is the heroic stage of youth. Out of it will come the creative man, the man-god_."

Hitler's voice flowed, powerful and frightening and inspiring, from the radio in the recreation room. Every boy stood, racousiously cheering, chanting the words that they had learned at Hitler's youth:

"Live Faithfully, Fight Bravely, and Die Laughing!"

But then another calm hush settled over the room as Hitler's did, as he spoke of his "youth".

"The German youth must be slender and supple, fast as a greyhound, tough as leather, and hard as Krupp steel. He must learn to do without, to endure criticism and injustice, to be reliable, discreet, decent, and loyal," his voice washed over the room, making an eerie calm.

The boy's faces were calm, serious, as if measuring themselves against their F hrer's words. From the back of the room came the small pledge:

"Hail to my Fuhrer."

Soft and silent as a prayer, it was uttered, and murmured again, in a ripple across all of the children. Mihael looked at Mail, whose face was pale as snow, his lips trembling as he prayed, clutching his necklace.

"Bitte erhore mein Gebet,mein Gott,und schutze mich vor denen, die Schleuder mich....._Please hear my prayer, my Lord, and protect me from those who sling stones at me..._"

* * *

That was December, 1936.

_Almost 4 years ago_, Mihael reflected. He closed his eyes, willing the tears that prickled and pulled against his bright blue eyes. He touched his rosary, drawing comfort from the warmth it gave him in his heart. How did he end up in this office, awaiting orders? How did he end up in this uniform, with it's shining boots and sharp edges? He knew how. He had joined the army because the thing that had kept him out was now gone. Mail was gone. It had happened by a stroke of fate, as it were. An unfortunate, damned stroke of fate.

* * *

He was running through town, trying to get back to the orphanage before curfew. It was late, and he was going home from one of the Youth meetings. His mind churned and swirled as he ran the streets, taking the shortest way back to the orphanage as possible. He ran around the corner, flat into two men in their uniforms. Mihael stared in awe at their shiny boots, their smart uniforms, with their gleaming pins. The one man, who had round red cheeks, udged his friend, who was young and looking rather bored.

"Hey Bruno, look at what we've got here!" the man said with malicious mirth. He picked Mihael up by his collar, "Looks like we have a boy in a hurry! What's your rush, my boy?" Mihael looked down at the ground.

"I'm s'posed to be home before curfew, sir. I don't want to get into trouble."

_Please, please, please just let me go on my way. Don't hold me up, and don't follow me._

"Is that so, boy? Wie Heiss du? _What's your name_?" He asked. Mihael gritted his teeth.

"Ich heisse Mihael Keehl. _My name is Mihael Keehl_."

The man nodded his head. "A good strong name. Wo wohnen Sie? _Where do you live_?" he asked. Mihael felt tears prickle in his eyes.

"Ich wohne in Waisenhaus Wammy's. _I live at Wammy's Orphanage_. Please, I must be going..."

The man laughed at him. "No need to rush. You're with us, and we're in charge, so we'll make sure you get to where you're going, right Bruno?" The other man looked down a Mihael with an understanding look.

"Simon, let's just leave him be. The boy is obviously in a hurry."

Mihael looked up at the man named Bruno, his eyes shining with gratitude. He didn't realise it, but he had just saved him and Mail a lot of trouble.

But it wasn't to be.

"Oh, look at that, it's curfew. Guess we'll just have to walk you home." Mihael pulled away from the man.

"No, please. I'll just hurry, I promise."

The man grabbed his arm harshly. "I insist. I know where you're going, let me take you."

He conceeded, knowing there was no real way to fight back. He felt his stomach go cold. It had already been 4 years since that fateful day that their troubles began, 2 since Mail's real trouble had begun, but somehow Roger, the owner of Wammy's, had been able to protect him. If these two men saw Mail, though....he'd be shipped off to one of those work camps...or worse.

_Please, if there is any God, please let Mail be waiting for me in our room, rather than in the recreation room,_ his mind screamed.

He climbed the stairs to the door, the men flanking him on either side, and opened the door, as his heart shattered.

There was Mail, sitting in the recreation room, his necklace out and flashing for the world to see.

Mihael wanted to throw up, to cry, to scream, but he hoped the two men wouldn't notice the damned gold charm. Mail ran over to the doorway to the recreation room, his face bright.

"Ich machte mir Sorgen...._I was worried..._." he said, his voice trailing off as the two soldiers eyed him closely.

The shorter, older man, Simon, grabbed his arm roughly.

"Schleichen Jude! _Sneaking Jew_!" He bellowed, bringing all the children to watch from various points. He slapped Mail hard with the back of his hand. "You were hiding! You are supposed to be relocated!" he yelled, shaking and slapping Mail with every word. Mail had broken into sobs, no matter how much he had been abused by everyone, he had never built up a tolerance to pain. He cried, looking to Mihael for help, his green eyes begging him. The younger soldier, Bruno, looked down at Mihael, his face sad.

"Schutzen Sie sich, _protect yourself_," he mouthed, not making a sound. He only looked down, his eyes filling with tears as his best friend was drug away.

"Mihael, rette mich, rette mich! _Save me, save me_!" Mail cried, reaching for his best friend.

Mihael raised his head, his face full of hate. "Ich nicht speichern schmutzigen Juden. _I don't save filthy jews_."

The soldier, Bruno, looked at him, and at the moment their eyes connected, Mihael saw the truth in his eyes.

Bruno, a man he had never met before now, a man who seemed bored when he first met him, understood his feelings. He understood that the hate in Mihael's face and eyes were not for the frail boy they were dragging away, but for him and his comrade. He saw the truth. He looked into Bruno's eyes and realised that no matter what he felt, no matter who he loved, there was only one he needed to protect.

Himself.

* * *

That was 2 weeks ago, and now here he was, on his 17th birthday, hoping to join the ranks of the SS. He wanted to go to a work camp.  
He wanted to find Mail, and help him.

He couldn't accept the truth he had seen in Bruno's eyes any longer.

He had to protect something other than himself.

* * *

**Okay, chapter two. **

**Clarifications:**

**1. The speech, and the pledge, and all refrences to the Hitler's Youth are COMPLETELY FACTUAL. I did not make those words up, nor did I change them in any way. **

**2. The german in this story is correct to the best of MY knowladge (and that of my German teacher). If I have misspelled, or you think I have translated wrong, politely tell me so. But, I will tell you that as a 3 year german student I am pretty sure that all this is correct. **

**3. Please note that I am not able to write umlauts, the ess-set, and other german symbols on here. I have tried, but I have been denied without knowing the key strokes, which I dont. **

Okay, review please :)


	3. Dachau

**Quick Note: Some of the words used here you will not find on a translator site. I will leave a few translations at the bottom.**

* * *

"Your forms are excellent, my boy. Not a speck out of place. In fact, it says here that you were the most physically fit of your Kameradschaft. That's quite impressive. Oh, and here, you helped aid in the capture of a jewish fugitive, not more than two weeks ago! You were made for the SS, my boy!" Mihael only stood, looking straight ahead as the officer prattled on about his papers. Finally, he stamped the papers and stood, saluting Him. "A fine help you'll be at Dauchau."

* * *

That was a day ago, and now Mihael sat on a train, on his way to the Dauchau camp. He nodded off in the seat, and began to dream.

"Why are you always clutching that thing?" Mihael demanded as Mail ran his thumb nervously over the Star on his necklace. Mail looked at him with his large green eyes, glittering with tears. He smiled that sad smile, and said simply,

"The same reason you cling to that rosary."

He fell, down, down, down through those words, into that night, that night that he had lost his family.

"Mihael, run!" His mother screamed. He ran, ran ran, until he looked down and there was red pulling him in. The red sucked and pulled and all he heard were the echo's of a man's voice,

_Ich beginne mit der Jugend.  
I begin with the young...I begin with the young._

A hand grabbed his thru a barbed wire fence... a face so gaunt and terrifying but with the most beautiful green eyes.  
"Rette Mich!"

He sat up with a start, breathing hard and sweating. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears. The men were getting off the train now, so he figured he should too.  
"Get up," an older man said to him roughly. He looked up at the man, who's kind eyes betrayed his rough tone. He smiled, taking the man's hand and standing.

"Danke. Thank you." He said gratefully. The man waved his hand.

"Not a problem. So, are you the new SS runner boy?"

Mihael nodded.

"Ah. Better get used to unkind words then, my boy."

"What do you mean? Are they unkind to their runners?"

The man's face looked sad and worn, like so many faces did.

"No....they are unkind to the Juden. Some terrible things happen here, but you can't say a word against it. Understand?"

Mihael nodded, pursing his lips together, "I understand."

The man studied him carefully, as though examining a piece of meat. He smiled softly afterward though, patting Mihael on the shoulder.

"You are made of the stuff of kings. You'll do fine here."

* * *

They were all marching off the train and along the fences, to the SS gaurdhouse, getting ready to recieve their uniforms and meet the Kommandant. They were all given uniforms and soap to shower before they met the kommandant, an offer Mihael accepted happily. Once clean and dressed, the Kommandant adressed them. He was a tall man, reeking of confidence and splendor. To put it simply, Mihael called him Kommandant Lackaffe in his head.

"Welcome to Dachau. You are standing on the very backbone of the Final solution, and you should be proud! Work hard, and keep order, no matter what actions it takes. Now, off you go!"

As all the men shuffled out, he noticed another boy in the same uniform as him walking over. Unlike Mihael, his hair was black and stringy and his eyes were brown. Mihael joked to himself, _"He must've had good papers. He certainly looks like a jew to me."  
_The boy grinned at Mihael, throwing his arm around his shoulder.

"Seems the Kommandant forgot to mention the best parts! Come on, let's go watch the men. It's "free time" for the jews," he siad, his eyes twinkling with malice. Mihael didn't like where this was going, but he couldn't get away from him. He didn't like the guy, he just rubbed him the wrong way, he was a Giftzwerg. He followed, hoping for the best.

Up ahead, thru the gates, there seemed to be a fight going on. But the only ones cheering and chanting were the SS, as the Jews stood about, their faces gaunt and their eyes empty. When they finally approached the circle, Mihael had to look away. They were beating the poor Jewish man, as though it was a sport. They's stand the man up right, trying to get him to hold his hands up as though he were actually boxing the soldier, as though there was a chance for this poor, woebegone creature to beat the tall, muscular young man before him. It was terrible, a sight that was burned into his memory. But, what happened next would burned even farther into his memory.

"Lass ihn in Ruhe, du grausame Bestien! Leave him alone, you cruel beasts!" he heard a familiar voice ring out. Mihael saw the barest flash of red in the corner of his vision before the scene unfolded before him. There stood Mail, his face gaunt and pale, but still pretty despite the obvious abuse it suffered, his body even more emaciated than ever before, if possible. The blonde man forgot his previous prey as he locked his eyes on the boy before him. "

"Sind Sie mir anstrengenderen, Nette Judenjunge? Are you challanging me, pretty jew boy?" he asked with a sneer.

* * *

**Lackaffe: A man who dresses well and has an extremely high opinion of himself, a man with a big ego. **

**Giftzwerg: Some who rubs others the wrong way, an annoyance, a rude and insensitive person. **

**You know what I usually write here, so I wont bother to write it again. **


End file.
